Remember the Maine

The U.S.S. Maine enters Havana Harbor.

After a miserably long silence -- my time away being spent attending matters of adult responsibility (not suffering, whatever you may hear from various reprobates, any forced abstinence) -- I present to you a cocktail bestowed with wonderful flavors and a mysterious moniker. There is a tale to be told about the libation referred to as "Remember the Maine." (Note to the reader: I may have previously mentioned that my research skills are dodgy and I am heroically lazy. Nonetheless, I think I've been able to piece together the basic story.)

The U.S.S. Maine, portrayed by Frederick Nelson Atwood.

It was the winter of 1898, and the battleship U.S.S. Maine had been sent to Havana, Cuba, to protect the interests of the United States during Cuba's revolt against the Spanish colonists. Three weeks after arriving, the Maine was anchored in Havana Harbor when a devastating explosion sent the great ship to the sea floor. Two hundred fifty-three sailors went down with the wreck. Eight later died of related injuries. Of 355 men, only 94 survived the blast and the sinking.

The ship's five-ton store of gunpowder had detonated. All parties involved in the ensuing investigation agree on that. How the magazines exploded remains up for debate. All manner of conspiracy theories haunt the sinking of the Maine. Was it an accident? Was there a mine? Was it sabotage? An act of terror? One such theory, propagated with great sensationalism by Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst in what became known as the "yellow press," was that the Spanish were responsible for sinking the American ship. The hawkish Pulitzer and Hearst sympathized with Cuba's plight for independence from Spain, and soon the phrase "Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!" was popularized, with the intention of prodding the U.S. into the Spanish–American War.

Wreck of the U.S.S. Maine.

Other stories circulated, with boards of inquiries leading to varying conclusions: the 1898 Del Peral and De Salas Inquiry discounted mines and advised that the gunpowder explosion was caused by a fire in the coal bunker; the 1898 Sampson Board's Court of Inquiry concluded that a coal fire could not have been possible and that a mine was the culprit; the 1911 Vreeland Board's Court of Inquiry found that the arms explosion was triggered by an external explosion, likely a mine, but their evidence differed from that of the 1898 Sampson Board; the 1974 Rickover Investigation, a private inquiry, examined photographs and ship plans and concluded that there was no external breach, and that spontaneous combustion in the coal bunker must have caused the magazines to explode; the 1998 National Geographic Investigation utilized the technology of computer modeling to assert that the damage to the ship's hull pointed away from an initial munitions explosion, but stopped short of claiming proof of a mine; and, in 2002, the History Channel Unsolved History Investigation landed on the side of the coal-bunker fire as causing the ignition of the gunpowder. 

Finally, a few pointed toward a "false flag" theory, speculating that the U.S. sank its own ship and sacrificed its sailors to justify war against Spain and to protect Cuba (or, to lay claim to the island in place of the Spanish).

While any of the aforementioned events are plausible, the true cause of the sinking of the Maine remains a mystery. And who gives a damn? History is history, and we have a wonderful cocktail to enjoy, called "Remember the Maine." 

So, what is the link between libation and liberation?

Charles H. Baker’s 1939 book, The Gentleman’s Companion: Being an Exotic Drinking Book or Around the World with Jigger, Beaker and Flask, is understood to be the first in which the Remember the Maine cocktail is mentioned. Baker's description includes a reference to the 1933 coup against the government of Gerardo Machado by General Batista during the "Revolt of the Sergeants" (Batista would, much later, be defeated by Fidel Castro's revolutionaries):

“Remember the Maine, a hazy memory of a night in Havana during the unpleasantness of 1933, when each swallow was punctuated with bombs going off on the Prado, or the sound of 3″ shells being fired at the Hotel Nacional, then haven for certain anti-revolutionary officers.”

We can only surmise the connection between cocktail and the course of history, but perhaps having a drink in Havana in 1933 and hearing, as described by Baker, the siege of the Hotel Nacional, was enough to stir memories of the former "unpleasantness" with the Maine and the Spanish–American War. In any case, let's get to the booze.

I tried this recipe numerous times, with varying ingredients and ratios, and landed upon a combination that I think is well-balanced and pleasing. It's the kind of drink that can be experimented with, by using different ryes (I tried James E. Pepper 1776 Rye and Rittenhouse Rye, both 100 proof, as well as Old Overholt -- all do well) or vermouths (Carpano Antica was too sweet, Punt y Mes was intriguing but not quite right, and Vya worked nicely; however, I found the best was the ever-so-slightly bitter Cocchi Vermouth di Torino), and even absinthes (I used Kübler, because it is the bottle I have on hand). However, you can't do without the Cherry Heering, as there really is no substitute.

Remember the Maine

3 oz rye whiskey

1 oz sweet vermouth (try Cocchi Vermouth di Torino)

2 tsp (10 ml) Cherry Heering

1/2 tsp (2.5 ml) absinthe (or, rinse the glass and discard)

Maraschino cherry

Charles H. Baker himself eloquently instructs: "Stir briskly in clock-wise fashion -- this makes it sea going, presumably! -- turn into a big chilled saucer champagne glass, twisting a curl of green lime or lemon peel over the top." 

My preference is a maraschino cherry -- especially one prepared by Luxardo. Just what the doctor ordered. Of course, it is all a matter of personal taste.

Bottoms up -- and, Remember the Maine!

The "Drew Barrymore" Cocktail

Photo courtesy of Dave Aaronoff.

Derived from the Du Barry Cocktail, this delightful sipper substitutes one ingredient and adds a little flame - in the process, transforming from doomed courtesan to pyrokinetic prodigy, hence the name "Drew Barrymore" (remember Firestarter?). This one was named (and flamed) by my friends Dave and Kerry, after they determined that the original Du Barry was lacking in some depth.

Speaking of the original Madame du Barry: in short, she was the last maîtresse-en-titre of French King Louis XV. She came up off the streets and ended up catering to the erotic needs of the aristocracy of France. Eventually she found herself servicing Louis XV, on the down-low, until she was officially presented to the Court at Versailles in April of 1769 as the king's maîtresse-en-titre. After the king's death in 1774, Mme du Barry was exiled. She eventually met her demise under the guillotine's undiscerning blade on December 8, 1793. Her last words, famously, were "Encore un moment!" (wait!).

So, why was the original called the Du Barry? Is it because it is basically a martini, done up with a bit of finery (Du Barry had grown accustomed to extravagant jewels and attire)? Is it because of the Pernod? While the Pernod absinthe distillery was not developed until 1797, this anise liqueur does represent the French element. Is it the gin? Typically associated with the English, could gin symbolize Du Barry's missed chance of survival? During a visit to Great Britain, the English tried to prevent her from returning to certain doom at the hands of the French Revolutionaries, who were bent on eradicating the aristocrats and royalty. Or perhaps it is the bitters - after all, her fate was a bitter one.

In this version, the original's thin slice of orange is now a flamed orange peel. Also, this calls for Peychaud's bitters - connecting again to the French element (in this case, New Orleans' French Quarter) - instead of Angostura bitters.

The Drew Barrymore Cocktail

• 1 1/2 oz gin
• 1/2 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters
• 2 dashes Pernod
• Garnish: flamed orange peel

Shake all ingredients with ice, strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a flamed orange peel.

The Peychaud's works very well with the anise flavors of the Pernod and the herbal nature of the gin. The flamed peel adds a delicious, complex burnt-sugar hint to the drink.

How to flame a peel: Due to the oils in their skins, lemon and orange peels can be flamed, creating a caramelized flavor in a drink. Be careful playing with fire in the vicinity of strong spirits, though. With a sharp knife, remove a thin section of peel from the exterior of a fresh orange or lemon, about an inch in length and perhaps three quarters of an inch wide, avoiding the pith. You want to end up with an oval of the peel. Holding a lit match or lighter in one hand, and the peel (between forefinger and thumb, exterior facing toward the drink) in the other, gently squeeze the peel so that the oils spritz through the flame and over the surface of the drink. You will see sparks if you do this correctly. In case you need a visual guide, here is a video showing the whole technique at bonappetit.com.

Bottoms up!

The Night Tripper Cocktail

On June 18, I disclosed the recipes for black peppercorn-infused vodka and my very own Dirty Cur Cocktail, a riff on the Salty Dog. And it was good. Since then, I have been playing mad scientist. The flavor of the infused vodka is rich and peppery, spicy and bold. The color is amber. It inspires experimentation. The flavor has real potential in cocktails.

I call this one the Night Tripper because I devised it while listening to Dr. John, The Night Tripper's Gris-Gris album, and it includes absinthe (popular in New Orleans). So there is a certain Crescent City-inspired atmosphere at work. Like Dr. John's debut album - a swampy, psychedelic, sultry, voodoo-sounding work of art (in my opinion) - this drink has mojo. It is spicy, mysterious, and satisfying. You can play around with the proportions and the supporting ingredients. And it packs a punch.


The Night Tripper Cocktail

• 2 oz black peppercorn-infused vodka (recipe here)
• 1 oz sweet vermouth (My choice is Carpano Antica Formula, but any sweet vermouth is fine)
• Splash of absinthe (I use Kübler in this; also try Pernod, Herbsaint, or other absinthe substitute)
• Dash Angostura Orange Bitters
• Orange twist for garnish

In a chilled cocktail glass, add the absinthe and swirl to coat. Discard (and not into the sink, barbarian). In a shaker with ice, add the infused vodka, bitters, and the vermouth. Shake vigorously and strain into the cocktail glass. Add the orange twist.

Feel the mysterious flavors of the pepper and fruit, with the dark undertone of absinthe.

Bottoms up. Let me know what you think.

The Attention Cocktail

Here's an interesting recipe, using Rothman & Winter Crème de Violette and absinthe along with gin and dry vermouth. This was posted on the product page for Haus Alpenz importers. It's definitely worth a try, but how much you like it will depend on a few things: whether you enjoy the perfume-like flavor of the Crème de Violette, and whether you can tolerate the strong anise of the absinthe. And if you don't like gin, well, read no further.

By the way, if you're in the Boston vicinity and you're looking for an interesting selection of liqueurs, apéritifs, amari, and hard-to-find vermouths, check out the wine section at Dave's Fresh Pasta - located in Somerville's Davis Square.

Aside from the exotic flavor of this drink, you'll be pleased by the amazing violet hue it shows. It is a stunner, and will grab the attention of anyone in the room.

The Attention Cocktail

• 2 oz dry gin
• 1/4 oz Crème de Violette
• 1/4 oz absinthe (I use Kübler)
• 1/4 oz dry vermouth
• 2 dashes, Regan's Orange Bitters

Shake with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Serve with a lemon twist. Bottoms up.

Sazerac Cocktail (Cognac Version)

I've had many a Sazerac cocktail - quite a few in its birthplace of New Orleans - and I enjoy it thoroughly. However, I have always had it made with rye whiskey. The other day, I was in the mood for a Sazerac and I didn't have the rye. Dr. John was playing on the stereo, the evening was sultry and sticky, I was in a blue bayou mood. I had to have a Sazerac!

Then I realized that I did have a bottle of decent cognac on hand - nothing fancy, but perfect to make the lesser known, older version of the Sazerac (which is originally named after the Sazerac de Forge et Fils cognac used). If not exactly what I was craving, I was still ready to try it out. And it was good.

In my taste, actually, this version (for the time being at least) has shouldered the more familiar rye concoction aside. So without further ado, here's how to make a damn good cognac-based Sazerac:

Sazerac Cocktail (with Cognac)

• 3 oz cognac (nothing too fancy, unless you're made out of money - I use Raynal)
• 1 sugar cube
• Peychaud's Bitters
• Splash of Herbsaint (the best, but hard to find outside of the Crescent City - you can use another absinthe substitute, such as Pernod or Absente; I tried it once with Kübler and it was okay)
• Lemon twist for garnish

Putting this drink together is a ritual. First, fill a cocktail glass with crushed ice to let it chill. Drop the sugar cube (or roughly a teaspoon of sugar) in a separate mixing glass, and saturate it with about four dashes of Peychaud's Bitters. Muddle it a bit to dissolve the sugar, and add the cognac (or rye, if you prefer) and stir. Meanwhile, dump the ice from the chilled cocktail glass, and add a splash of Herbsaint to the empty, cold glass. Swirl it around to coat the interior, and then discard. (Actually, I never discard Herbsaint anywhere except straight into my mouth.)

Add ice cubes to the sugar/Peychaud's/cognac in the mixing glass, and stir until very cold. Strain into the Herbsaint-rinsed cocktail glass. Add a twist of lemon peel for garnish. Santé, and bottoms up.